


Rest Now

by saturni_stellis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, gen - Freeform, hints at smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/pseuds/saturni_stellis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childermass muses over Henry Lascelles' sleeping habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Now

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a Childermass/Lascelles fluff prompt on the kink meme.

Childermass could count, quite easily on one hand, how many people he had shared a bed with in his lifetime.

The number, by many men's standards who were his age, was considerably low. In fact there were only two... a young maid he'd fallen for some time in the late 1780's, with whom he'd shared a short yet intense love affair with before she left to work for a Governess in Cornwall; and before that, a sailor on the HMS Actaeon who had an interest in young dark boys who had a talent for reading tarot cards.

There weren't too many chances for encounters after the maid...working in service for Mr Norrell consisted of long arduous days with high demands and plenty of tasks- all of which required plenty of time. Childermass, although a young hot blooded male, still very much considered by many to be in his "prime", did not dwell on these carnal thoughts for too long and had no desire to spend any of the little free time he had seeking out mistresses.

And so it came rather as a surprise that Mr Lascelles would be the third person he would share a bed with.

Mr Lascelles was not, in any way shape or form, the sort of man Childermass would ever intend on courting. In fact, there was no courting of any sort to be had, and their first sexual encounter consisted of angry hissing mouths, crashing against each other in a fit of undiluted tension that had been building for almost three years, only to be released in some very rushed and rough rutting against Mr Norrell's desk.

After this encounter Lascelles for his part completely blanked Childermass for several days (this had bode very well with Childermass) and it wasn't until the subject rather hastily was brought up again via an inconvenient argument that Lascelles found himself pressed against Norrell's bookcase, with Childermass obligingly on his knees in front of him.

These little escapades continued for some time and it wasn't until several months later when Childermass inevitably found himself in Henry Lascelles' bed.

Lascelles was of course a gentleman in every way, and although Childermass could think of several reasons that could debunk this claim, Lascelles would never think anything of himself otherwise. And so Lascelles would refuse to be buggered anywhere but in his own bed. 

For some time, this proved a nuisance - if it had not been for this stubbornness Childermass imagined he would've had him a long time ago, over a table perhaps or even against the damn wall in the hallway. But that simply would not do, and so Lascelles had his way, as he usually did, and Childermass fucked him in his bed. 

At first it had come as some surprise to Childermass that Lascelles had been so willingly tolerant of the way Childermass made love. Their sexual escapades before sharing a bed usually ended up with Lascelles somehow physically overpowering Childermass in some way, but when Lascelles was on his back, hands scratching across Childermass' shoulders as he arched his hips upwards, clenching his legs around the other man's waist, pulling him forward and panting into his chest, there seemed to be little question over who was dominating who. 

He didn't leave much time between finishing and vacating the gentleman's room. There was certainly no need to stay and Childermass strongly suspected Lascelles felt very much the same. However as their encounters became more frequent, that desperation and need for one's release of lust became as tiring as riding for several days on horseback and so Childermass started to leave longer gaps between their satisfied end and leaving the bed. 

The first time Lascelles fell asleep on Childermass, the servant was quite sure, it was the most intimate moment they had shared. Despite having explored perhaps every inch of Henry Lascelles' body, with his hands with his fingers with his mouth, the small nestle of the man's head into the crook of his shoulder as he slept soundly, completely unaware of Childermass' presence still in the bed, was the closest he'd ever felt to him. 

Lascelles was not a man of intimacy. They did not kiss lightly, they did not touch tenderly or fuck gently. Their copulation was a mere release of anger, a passion that was only mutually understood by the two men themselves and nothing more. They had agreed that with no words uttered. It was an...arrangement, and nothing more. Love did not factor in to it, and Childermass was almost certain Lascelles was a man quite incapable of loving anything. 

As he lay there however, Lascelles' arms wrapped around his waist, gently clutching at his skin as he breathed shallowly against his neck, he contemplated the very situation they were in. Was it not debauchery of some sort? A sin? Was it plain lust? And yet how could one lust over someone they hated so very much. Childermass turned his head slowly on the pillow and watched Lascelles sleep, his eyelids fluttering behind a dream. He did not look so hateful now... the spiteful man he knew looked forgotten and somehow incredibly younger, paler in the soft glow of the moonlight that was seeping in through his curtain. Childermass tried to move but felt the arms around him tighten... Did Lascelles know he was there? In his unconsciousness could he feel the presence of another man in his bed? Was it merely comfort...? 

He did not want to think about it any more. Slowly and carefully, Childermass released himself, dressing quickly and watching Lascelles turn into the pillows, pulling the duvet over his face and humming in his sleep. The movement had not woken him, and Childermass left, unnoticed to return to Hanover Square. 

It was not the last time. 

*

As Childermass lay on his back the sweat still slicked across his forehead, he allowed his breathing to slow and he felt Lascelles turn into him, bringing his arms around to wrap tight against his waist again, hearing the man beside him snoring very softly against his shoulder. 

Childermass lay still, shuffling only to bring his arm out from under the covers so it lay across the pillow above Lascelles' head. The man crept in closer to press against him, humming again quietly as his hair tickled Childermass' chin. Eyes dropping slightly, Childermass tried to remember the last time he had fallen asleep in someone else's arms. The emotions it stirred up were not ones he felt similarly for Henry Lascelles... he was quite sure the last person he'd fallen asleep next to he had felt an ounce of love for. And yet as Childermass lowered his arm carefully to gently ghost a finger between Lascelles' shoulder blades, feeling the man shiver in his sleep, he was quite uncertain how he could feel such hatred for a human he was currently so physically close with. 

He shook the feeling off and after some time, decided he did not want to risk falling asleep and having to deal with a moody Lascelles finding Childermass in his bed in the morning and slid out of the bed without waking the man still in it. 

*

It was winter in London. Snow swept through the streets in howling winds and ice frosted the windows in little jagged patterns in the panes. Childermass was reminded of the winters at home, long cold nights over looking the moors outside Hurtfew Abbey. The warmth and comfort of Norrell's library and the quiet crackle of the fire as his master read late into the night. 

The sounds were similar now, only the circumstances had changed. Childermass was older, a little leaner perhaps, with a twinge in his left shoulder if he moved it too quickly. Norrell was constantly agitated, and even more so now that Strange's book was going ahead despite the magician having done a disappearing act. This consistent stress made his current predicament an almost welcome escape. 

He felt Lascelles shudder slightly in his sleep, and held him tighter until feeling him settle. His mouth was resting, open, against Childermass' shoulder, his lips every now and then becoming moist against his skin as he breathed heavily into him. 

It was quite apparent to Childermass that after all this time, Lascelles was completely unaware of what he was doing to Childermass in his sleep. The man slept so soundly, so deeply after they came together, that Childermass was certain he could sit in his room for the entirety of the night with the occupant none the wiser. This of course, he did not always do, and usually escaped several hours before dawn, so as to have some sleep himself before returning to his work. But as the nights became longer, colder and more dismal, Childermass found himself quite incapable of pulling himself away. 

Later and later he stayed, whiling away the hours as Lascelles was curled against him, hugging his waist. Sometimes his head lulled against Childermass' chest, and on more than one occasion Childermass had felt Lascelles dribble against his skin. He had only smiled at this, looking down at him, unable to look away from the sleeping face which looked so very peaceful and not at all scathing or calculated. 

Lascelles never faltered from his sleep, not when Childermass turned to face him and press his nose against his, not when he stroked his hair from his forehead, and not even when Lascelles was shuddering in his sleep from an apparent nightmare. All it took was Childermass' arms, pulling him flush against his hot skin for the man to calm, breath slowly and fall deeply into that unknown space of unconsciousness. 

There had been one night, where Lascelles had fallen asleep almost so instantly Childermass had wondered if he'd been asleep as he came, when Lascelles almost rolled on top of him, held him tightly pressing his head into Childermass' chest and whispered someone else's name. On hearing it Childermass felt guilt swell inside him- he had never heard the name before, and did not recognise it, but he felt as though it was not a name for him to hear, as though he was intruding on something so intimate it was against his right to hear it...as though he'd stepped into Lascelles' mind and thoughts. He did not stay long after that.

But like many things before it, this was not the last time it happened, and Childermass heard this name again, whispered gently against his skin followed by some other unintelligible words. He tried to ignore it and settled Lascelles by bringing him closer and wrapping his hands around his back. 

After some time, Childermass started to stay until dawn, and let himself sleep for some hours, confident he could wake himself up before Lascelles did. In the dark room, lit sometimes by the soft glow of the dying fire, Childermass traced the marks on Lascelles' skin, usually left by his own hands or teeth. The little red bumps on his neck where his mouth had pressed too hard or the pink marks where his thumbs had dug into his thighs. 

Lascelles would make a noise in his sleep as Childermass' hands gently ran over these marks, his fingertips tickling the other man's skin. After this, Childermass would lie back and allow Lascelles to curl up next to him. 

The next day Lascelles, awake and fully concious, would be back to his normal self and their mutual hatred would fuel and rise until it was broken again a couple of nights later with rough kisses, and Childermass' hips relentlessly pushing into Lascelles atop his bed. Then they would sleep. Peacefully. Happily.

Childermass was completely aware and remembered every part of this intimacy. 

Lascelles in his arrogance and stubbornness had no idea, and yet when he woke the next morning, alone and cold in his bedchamber, he could still smell and feel the man upon his skin, and was quite certain, that those nights, the nights Childermass came to visit, were always the best nights of sleep he had.


End file.
